Owen slipped his hands around Charles, cradling him and lifting him out of my arms. Charles stirred, but settled his head against Owen’s chest after a few seconds.
The sight took me off guard. It scraped my heart raw, leaving room for me to acknowledge the most inexcusable of ideas—like how Owen had just become even more attractive than before.
“Charles must have had an eventful day as well,” he whispered with a smile.
I took Peter’s hand to distract myself. “He did.”
Owen started up the stairs, and I followed. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Charles.
He had never known our father’s strong arms and the ease at which they could hold him. I had often been pieced back together when I was sad, simply by a warm hug from my father. The safety that could be felt when surrounded by the arms of a man who loved and cared for you was unmatched. Charles had never felt it. Peter was unlikely to remember it. I hadn’t felt it in five years.
I thought Owen would stop outside their room, but he carried Charles all the way inside. I found Peter’s clean nightclothes, keeping one eye on Owen as he placed Charles gently on the bed, arranging the blankets around him. When he finished, I tore my gaze away, pretending I hadn’t been watching so intently.
“Are you coming back to the drawing room?” Owen asked in a soft voice.
I looked up. “I was planning to.”
He seemed pleased with that answer, taking a step toward the door. “I will see you soon, then.”
I nodded, my skin buzzing with an unfamiliar sensation. I was half nervous, half excited.
Was it possible that I had come to enjoy Owen’s company? Just the day before I had been determined to avoid him as muchas possible, but now, I was looking forward to spending more time with him. I supposed that’s how people felt about their new friends.
After tucking Peter into bed, I kissed them both on the forehead and blew out the candle.
In the drawing room, Mrs. Everard called me back to my seat directly between her and her husband. Owen sat nearby, so I was able to speak more with him as well.
When I stood to retire for the evening, Owen followed me to the door. “Since your tour ended prematurely today…may I show you the rest of the house tomorrow?”
I caught Mrs. Kellaway watching us from behind her book. Was it proper to accept his offer? If Mrs. Kellaway offered to join us, I would feel much less anxious about the situation.
“I-I will have to see what my brothers are doing…and find a way to entertain them.” My voice was quiet, but Mrs. Everard missed nothing.
“Leave them with us in the library!” she said. “We thoroughly enjoyed reading to them this morning.”
I exchanged a smile with Owen.
“That settles it,” he said. This time, his voice was quiet enough that only I could hear it. “I’ll meet you in the library after breakfast.”
I nodded before slipping into the corridor. I felt Owen’s gaze on my back as I left, but I didn’t dare look back at him again. I was smiling too much. There was still so much of the house left to see, and I was quite certain Owen would make the tour entertaining. I could hardly wait.
In my bedchamber, I noticed my pink rose sitting in a vase with a few inches of water on my writing desk. It must have been Lizzie’s doing. I walked beside it and dared myself to touch one of its velvet petals. I rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger, my mind spiraling through the events of the day. I exhaled, longand slow, and a tightness I hadn’t known was there disappeared from my chest.
Exhaustion began to set in and I crawled into bed with a smile that felt as unwaveringly wide as Mrs. Everard’s eyes. I had no desire to dismiss it, so I let it melt slowly into my face as I relaxed.
Just as I was falling asleep, I remembered having another lazy thought about Owen’s rose, how lovely it was, and how I might just keep it.
CHAPTER 14
As promised, I met Owen in the library the next morning for my tour. My brothers were happy to be left to the care of the Everards; they hardly noticed my departure.
Having seen most of the main areas of the grounds the day before, Owen showed me the other rooms on the main level of the house. His father’s study looked like a miniature version of the library, but was furnished in red with a dark walnut desk. Likewise, the morning room looked like a miniature version of the drawing room, but all the furnishings were ivory and pink, including the paper on the walls. Owen told me that it was Alice’s favorite room in the house, the place where she and Mrs. Kellaway often received their friends for tea.
The parlor, yet another room for hosting guests, was the largest of all. The exposed parts of the wooden floor gleamed in the morning light. Various sofas and chairs dotted the room, as well as a very large rug. I learned that when the Kellaways hosted parties, it was all cleared out for dancing. I debated telling Owen that I had never been to a ball, but decided once again not to make my inexperience so obvious.
I had learned to dance from an instructor when I was young, and had practiced with my parents, but I had neverawaited invitations from handsome gentlemen while wearing a ballgown. That would be an entirely different experience. A thrill raced across my skin at the thought, but then I remembered that soon I would be the wife of a vicar, and the only men I would dance with would be at small gatherings in Silton.
Owen planned to show me more of the house, but paused at the card table in the corner of the parlor. He challenged me to a game of piquet, which of course I couldn’t refuse. He won, but I assured him I would win the next time.
